There’s no Success Like Failure and Failure’s No Success at All

I saw the 1971 performance of Bob Dylan singing “Love Minus Zero/No Limit” with George Harrison in Bangladesh this afternoon.

I stopped what I was doing and watched it. It felt like balm being applied to an abscessed wound.

When I got money transferred into my account, I walked to my usual haunts. I walked to the vape shop and bought another one of the purple “Rainbow Rain” vapes I like for its smooth flavor, then all the way to the Dunkin’ at the corner of Gulfstream Boulevard for a medium cold brew with all the fixings. I was the only one in the shop, so they made it quickly and just as I like it. Then, as the rain began to fall under pregnant gray clouds, I walked to the Walmart.

I got a box of Mac & Cheese and the pizza I like. I’m hungry and I want to eat. I find it a blessing that I’m hungry and want to eat. I find it a blessing that the sky is raining, the comfort of familiar places so close by.

Of course, I still want to watch 70s disaster movies for some odd reason, but only after my familiar block of Seinfeld and Frasier.

I want to drizzle Sriracha on my Mac & Cheese and eat the whole thing while canned laughter rings over my ears. I want to escape into comfort.